


Intertwining Wires

by Aviantei



Series: Disconnected Cables [2]
Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, I just have more feelings about Mizuiro take them, One Shot, Post-Canon, also some headcanons, college days
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:55:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21927790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviantei/pseuds/Aviantei
Summary: [One Shot; Sequel to "Disconnected Cables"] Was following a girl I'd slept with over the summer all the way to her college the best decision? I couldn't say. What I could say, however, was that I'd follow the cable she'd left behind, even if it was no longer connected on the other side. [MizuiroxOC]
Relationships: Kojima Mizuiro/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Disconnected Cables [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566712
Kudos: 3





	Intertwining Wires

**Author's Note:**

> This one shot was originally posted on October 21, 2017. After writing "Disconnected Cables," I figured I wanted to write more, so here it is. Rampant with some family headcanons about Mizuiro, some angst, and an actual happy ending this time?
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**Intertwining Wires**

By: Aviantei

A _Bleach_ One Shot

* * *

_cable reconnected_

_communication: RED_

* * *

Sorry, I didn’t mean too barge in on you like this. I didn’t mean to reopen this line at all, to be honest, as rare as that is for me. But one by one, wires are connecting me to others again. Sure, there were some I never expected to stay detached in the first place. Keigo reconnected to me not even an hour after I’d decided to start fresh, and most of my high school friends followed.

It was strange, seeing how simple things could look. Before, I’d always had so many wires going off in so many directions that I couldn’t distinguish one from the other. They were a tangled mess, knotted together so that unplugging one could bring several others with it. But without any other weight attached, putting one wire back at a time kept them straight, made it so I could tell which wire connected to which person. If I wanted to detach one, I’d be able to do so without any trouble. But for once in my life, I didn’t want to unplug any of the connections. I wanted all our ICU cables to stay in place, carrying our pulses and vitals back and forth to one another.

It made me scared of what would happen when I would leave, that the cables connecting me to Karakura Town wouldn’t reach all the way up to Aomori. That was enough for me to start rifling through my university acceptance letters, trying to find something closer.

But in the end I went. And at this moment, I’m still scared. I still get text messages from Keigo and Kurosaki and the others, and I send some to them as well. But there’s going to be a time when classes start taking over our lives, when we may get so busy that we might just kick out a wire as we scramble around, trying to stay afloat.

Without the weight of other wires tying them into place, any of these connections could fall out with the same ease a phone charge disconnects from an outlet.

Despite that terror in my gut and those strained wires, I’m still here. Because while my connections to Karakura haven’t faded, even as we stretch our cables all the way across the country, there’s one connection I can’t keep in place unless I’m closer. The wire that’s compatible between her console and mine just isn’t that long.

I need to be here.

I need to at least try.

I _want_ , unlike any other connection I’ve ever made in my life, to see if I can make the wire between us grow a bit stronger, stretch a bit longer.

And so, I’m once again going to ask that you listen to be for just a bit longer.

* * *

The courtyard bustles with the energy of a fresh spring day. Trees shimmer in their renewed vibrant greens, the scent of earth seeps up from the rain the evening before, even reaching across the concrete, and students cover every one of the buildings and sidewalks, all in some way preparing for the day ahead of them. Without uniforms, it’s hard to tell who all was enrolled, but backpacks and bags hang off the shoulders of chatting groups perched on steps, textbooks spill from the arms of students emerging from the campus bookstore, and the occasional professor, briefcase in hand, strolls past, greeting students they recognize before heading inside to begin their lectures.

I stand on edge of all this, gripping my backpack straps and trying to catch my breath from the hill I just climbed to get here. I knew from the research I did months ago that this university has a sizable enrollment size despite the smaller area of the campus. But the dorms and dining halls weren’t enough for me to believe it; I needed to see this.

_How in the world am I supposed to find her in all this?_

A yawning student heads for the stairs I’m blocking the entrance to, and I step aside. He must’ve had an early morning class. I lucked out and avoided any lessons in my first period this semester, but I still have one during the second. Digging through my pocket, I pull out my schedule and try to remember which building I’m supposed to be heading to. I walked around a bit the past few days, but the layout’s still evading me. Retrieving the map I was given during my orientation, I reorient myself and head to the building across the courtyard from me.

I know I’m not going to find her in an instant. She’s a few years ahead of me, as per usual, so the chances of us having classes together are slim. But that doesn’t stop me from looking at every flash of auburn hair, jumping to attention at every peal of alto laughter. She’s here somewhere. She’s here.

And so am I.

Tugging the wire I hope is still between us, I hope that we’ll connect to each other somehow, and head to my math lecture.

* * *

Two months pass as I settle into my general education coursework. Since middle school, I’d moved forward with the idea I’d earn my living the same way I kept roofs over my head—by accompanying women far above my age bracket wherever their wallets were willing to support me. I went to high school to satisfy Keigo. It wasn’t until last summer that I even considered going to university, so the path I’m taking into my future is hazy and without direction.

The work sweeps everyone up in a frenzy of lectures, exams, and assignments. Keigo still takes time to check up on my each week, and I trade off intermittent text messages with the rest from Karakura. I wouldn’t call them friends, but I also make a few acquaintances in my classes to trade notes and eat meals with. I’m not a total recluse, unlike my roommate. If nothing else, I know how to blend myself into a social group.

It’s thanks to one of those acquaintances that I start going to the student run coffee night every Wednesday. It’s a good break in the middle of the week from classes and studying, and the sheer variety of people who pass through is provides more than enough people watching. One of the dining halls is taken over, coffee pots and add-ins set up next to the soda fountain, and almost every booth and table is filled. Posters from the sponsoring student organization change out every week, from volunteer organizations to anime clubs.

On my third visit, I sit at our high table and sip at my coffee (lots of cream, little sugar) while my classmates chatter beside me. They toss out stories about their hobbies and complaints about their coursework as I scan the room, seeing if there’s someone interesting to watch for a bit. Part of me can’t escape the habit of trying to pick out the most likely candidate to take me home for the evening, despite the fact that I have my own dorm room guaranteed to go back to when I finish up socializing. The key dangles off my belt loop, resting against my hip.

I’m so lost in musing that I almost miss her walking in.

She’s different than the last time I saw her—all decked out in summer shorts and string-strapped tank tops, auburn hair tied into twin tails, sun blessed skin. Aomori isn’t as kind as Karakura is at this time in the year, and she flounces over to the coffee bar in a skirt and cardigan the colors of autumn. Her hair’s tucked up into a large bun at the back of her head, dyed dark with colored streaks crisscrossing in the strands. You’d almost think she’s a different person; I almost do.

But I’ve spent too many nights with her to forget her face, the brown of her eyes peering out from her oval glasses, the shape of her subtle curves, even the turn of her neckline. I know her body so well because I made sure I remembered, unlike every other girl and woman I’ve been with before and made sure I forgot.

My mouth goes dry to a level that repeated drinks of my coffee can’t quench. Our group’s table is close enough to the center of the room that she could pass us up without a second glance, even with its elevation over surrounding lower tables. I watch the way she leans on the counter, and, even though I can’t hear her over the mix of chatter and pop music, I can tell she’s singing from the way her lips move.

“Hey, Kojima, you okay?” Tsukuda from my history period asks. He tosses a glance over to Nakamura from English. Nakamura shrugs. “You’re spacin’ out more than usual. Have a rough week or something?”

I tear my eyes away from her and back to the table. We’ve been here long enough that all our mugs are empty, or close to it. They’ve been lingering for the company. And so I was I, until I noticed her. Now it takes everything I have to keep attention to my classmates. “Sorry, I got distracted thinking about that essay we have to right for next week.” The lie flows off my tongue, as natural as anything I’ve ever seen before. Tsukuda groans and slumps into the table; history isn’t a kind subject to him. I drain the last of my cup and stand up. “I think I should just go back and get ready for class in the morning. Some extra sleep will do me good.”

“I’m not gonna sleep now that you reminded me of that essay,” Tsukuda grumbles but stands up, too. “Dammit, I’m gonna try and get some research done. Let’s meet up this weekend and have some real fun, alright?”

Nakamura sniggers. “Your idea of fun is playing cards at three am when everyone’s too delirious to read numbers straight.”

“Hey, I am the _king_ of midnight Rich Man Poor Man.”

I glance back over to her, where the streaks in her eye flash like a beacon in the dimmed lights. Laughter erupts from the table next to us, and she glances to a friend she came with. I take the long way out around the edge of the room so she doesn’t see me, dodging bags set on the floor.

If she asked me what I’m doing here, I wouldn’t be able to come up with a lie to explain myself.

* * *

She comes to the coffee house the next week. And the week after that. Ducked into the booth in the back corner, I watch her from across the room. She props herself against a wall, cream colored camisole and dark colored skirt, coffee cupped between her hands. I never see what she has inside, but I know from lazy summer mounings: three spoonfuls of sugar, near half a cup of cream. I try to wash the memory of her skin from my mouth

Nakamura sips at his coffee and asks, “Are you gonna actually talk to that girl or just stare and fantasize about her for the rest of the semester?”

I almost choke on my drink. Tsukuda stops chatting with his roommate whose name I can’t remember, a light of excitement in his eyes. “Holy shit.” I try to avert my eyes, but Tsukuda’s already following my gaze. “Holy shit, Kojima. Isn’t she an upperclassman? Out of your league, but nice taste.”

Tsukuda doesn’t know about the uncountable number of women I’ve been with before. I made sure no one knows here. Hell, Keigo’s the only one I ever told the details, though I think Kurosaki and Arisawa had guessed. With the nice boy persona I’ve been using for years, it would be strange for them to even guess just how within my league she is.

“It’s not like that,” I lie without having to think about it.

“Riiight.” Nakamura puts down his coffee cup. “You’ve been spacing out more than usual. I noticed you eyeballin’ her last week. Had to call your name like three times to get a response.” I blink and try to think back. Have I been that distracted?

Tsukuda nods his agreement. “I wonder what her name is. Oh, hey, do you want me to be your wingman?” He elbows his roommate. “We’ve been buddies since middle school. He can attest to my skills.”

“Actually, I’d rather not—”

Tsukuda’s roommate takes pity on me. “Leave him alone, Kai.” Tsukuda pouts. His roommate looks across the room, finding her, now leaning sideways on the wall. She pokes at her friend’s side, some nonsensical jab on her lips. I’m glad for the din of students and music between us; if I heard her voice, I’d start reminiscing about the way she called my name. “Oh, that’s Mizushima-san. Do you know her?”

“How do you know her?” My voice pops up in pitch before I can stop myself. Nakamura smirks at me. I toss a balled up napkin at his face and clear my throat. “Sorry, I just thought she was older.” I know for fact that she’s older. “Aren’t you still in gen ed like the rest of us?”

“Yeah, but I got a high math placement score so I ended up in calc,” Tsukuda’s roommate says. “I get most of it, but some of that junk is way over my head. She’s a math tutor over at the success center. I get her for my lessons a lot.”

Nakamura smirks. “Hey, Kojima, I heard that geometry professor of yours is pretty tough.”

Keigo used to always drag me along to help him pick up girls; with my success rates, he never had to go out of the way to set me up, though. It takes me a moment to recognize that’s what’s going on here. Her presence threatens to drag my gaze back across the room, but I stare down Nakamura and give my most deadpan tone.

“I’m not going to get math lessons just so I can talk to her.” She’d think it was funny, though. Echoes of her laughter roll around my skull. “Listen, I’m okay with just admiring her from afar. She probably doesn’t wanna date a first year like me.” She’s done plenty of other things, but date isn’t one of them. I jab a finger into Nakamura’s chest and glance to Tsukuda and his roommate. “None of you say anything, okay? I’ll sabotage you if I have to.”

Tsukuda shudders, his roommate looks befuddled, and Nakamura grumbles something before retreating to get another cup of coffee. I watch him trek across the room, making sure he doesn’t so much as trip in front of her. She doesn’t even blink as he passes, so immersed in her own conversation, her own little world, that recognizing someone else’s communication is beyond her.

* * *

Katou, my roommate, is still awake when I go to lie down at night, the glow of his computer screen reflecting off the pale walls. I stare at the blank wall next to my bed, opposite of the closet and dressers. We put up a wire shelf between his desk and my bed, complete with blanket draped over the back, so not much of the light leaks into my side of the room. I don’t need the extra stimulation to stay wide awake.

Muted colors ghost across our ceiling as I think over what just happened, think over what happened before. Was there even a cable between us before, or was it just a one sided wire. What sort of face would she make if she happened to see me in the coffee house? The dining hall? The café? In the dorms, between lecture halls, across campus?

At the student success center?

 _“Summer’s almost over,”_ she had said.

 _“Thanks, Mizuiro. Thanks for everything,_ ” she had said, as if I had done something worth getting thanked for.

 _“I think I like you,”_ I had said the night before that, when I knew I shouldn’t have.

 _“You must be really tired, Mizuiro,”_ she had said, tired herself. _“Go to sleep…_ ”

But I can’t go to sleep. I press my forearm over my eyes to block out the light of Katou’s computer, but I can’t block out the noise inside my mind. I keep thinking about everything she had said to me, and how I’d do anything, no matter how stupid, to hear her call my name again, each syllable pronounced like nothing else in the world matters.

Thinking over our conversations, I realize that I had always avoided saying her name. The ease that Tsukuda’s roommate said it with lit up a hazy imitation of jealousy in my stomach. The nausea just grows as I end up thinking of her with him in the same way I was, playing around in every which way until there aren’t any secrets left, just an impassible distance, a cord between two people where you can’t even see the outlet to know if the other person’s unplugged it or not.

“Mizushima-san,” I mutter to myself, as if that could close the gap. No, that’s not right at all. I was never Kojima-kun to her or anything like that. With her, I was always Mizuiro. Sucking in a breath of stale air, I try again.

“Tomomi.”

The faint leakage of pop music from Katou’s headphones is all that answers me.

* * *

I’ve gone to so many coffee shops and used them to pick up women that the details all blur together. But it was summer, the air conditioning was turned up too high, and I pulled off my usual strategy of looking at a woman and smiling enough times that I caught her attention. When she got up to get a refill, she sat back down next to me. One hour later and Mizushima Tomomi was inviting me out for dinner.

Two and a half hours later she was pulling me into a house that looked way too big for just one person. By the time the sex was over and she mentioned everyone else would be out until the next day, I was trying to pull my clothes back together. By the next morning, when she was cooking me a simple breakfast of eggs and rice and I realized she was young enough to still be living with her parents, she’d already gotten my phone number.

“Let me know if you ever need a meal again,” she said, seeing me out the door. “Come over whenever you like, Mizuiro.”

I didn’t intend to. But she invited me over three days later anyways, and I started drifting to her window in the middle of the night, when I didn’t have anywhere else to go—when I could’ve had somewhere else to go, but I chose to stay with her. The four weeks of summer vacation passed far too fast.

Of all things, I dream about it. Our meeting, our encounters after that, the aloe scent off her long hair as it hung off her shoulders and tickled my skin. Given how vivid the sensations are, I can forgive how shoddy my memory of our meeting is.

I dream of the wire that once connected me to her, thin and clutched in my hand, as if holding onto it will make it reattach all on its own.

* * *

Sleep deprived, I make it to the weekend, where my body caves in and collapses after dinner, before Nakamura and Tsukuda can even text me to invite me to hang out. I miss Keigo’s usual end of week call, too. I wake up once in the middle of the night, ignoring Katou still awake and gaming, and go back to sleep, determined to sleep my Saturday away, even if it means skipping out studying for my upcoming literature exam.

That plan is thwarted when someone shakes my shoulder hard enough to almost dislodge it. “Come on, man,” Katou grumbles. I wonder what time it is. He pulls all-nighters on Fridays, so it could be anywhere from early morning to evening. The shut curtains prevent me from judging the outside light as I blink and try to bury myself back into my pillow. “You’ve got company, Kojima. She’s not gonna let me close the door if you don’t at least say something.”

I crane my neck backwards, trying to get a glance of who would come to see me in person when they could just text me.

Tomomi leans over me, one free lock of neon green hair tickling my nose, the rest pulled back into the twin tails I remember with neon scrunchies that match her dyed streaks. I haven’t seen her this close in so long that the breath catches in my throat. Katou shuffles back to his side of the room, leaving the door hanging open behind him.

“I thought a phone call would be too impersonal,” Tomomi says, right on the verge of laughter like she always does. My ears thump at the sound of her voice, but I don’t dare move; sitting up would launch my forehead right into hers. I could kiss her, but I stay stock still. “I guess it’s a bit late, but congratulations on passing your entrance exam, Mizuiro.”

“Thanks,” I say, enthralled by the methodological way she pronounces my name. Katou’s clicking away at his computer again, back at whatever game he’s chosen to marathon this time. He wouldn’t hear a single thing either of us say, but it seems wrong to have a conversation with her in front of anyone else. When I try to suggest something, I choke on the words. “You dyed your hair,” I say instead.

Tomomi giggles, drawing a finger across my bangs. “And you trimmed yours a bit.” How she can tell when I’m lying down is beyond me. Retracting her hand, she pulls back the sleeve of her cardigan and checks a brown wristwatch. “It’s almost noon, you know. You’re gonna need some lunch after sleeping in so long.” She tucks her hands behind her back and leans back over me. “I’m hungry, too. Care to join me?”

I get the courage to tug on the cable between us, and find it anchored in place.

“Yeah, sure.”

* * *

“Nakamura, you bastard,” I grumble right before second period English Tuesday morning. Nakamura glances over from the seat next to me, a far too innocent expression on his face. I recognize it because I’ve all but mastered the art form of appearing I’ve done nothing wrong. I slam my bag down on my desk and scrape my chair across the floor as I turn it to face him. “Care to explain yourself?”

“I got stuck figuring out my math homework, Tsukuda was in class, and it’s not like I could’ve known Mizushima’d be working,” he defends. I hold back the insistence that it’s Mizushima- _san_ to him. “She’s real chatty, you know. Keeps you focused, but talks enough to keep you relaxed. She’s an interesting teacher.”

I lean back in my seat, forcing myself to relax. Getting this worked up isn’t like me. “That doesn’t explain how my name or dorm room got brought up into the conversation.”

Nakamura holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Not my fault. She noticed me meet up with you and came and asked _me_ about it.” Tomomi left that detail out—she named Nakamura as the source of her intel and moved the conversation along. I can’t confirm or deny it. Nakamura glances around the room at our few assembled classmates, then leans forward to whisper, “I think she’s into you, man. She was all pumped up about seeing you again. You lucky bastard.”

“Don’t be stupid.” I try to imagine Mizushima Tomomi, the girl who makes friends with womanizers like me and laughs when someone pulls a knife on her, ever getting excited over something as mundane as meeting someone again. It doesn’t click. “She probably just thought it was funny that I followed her here. As if she’d ever like me that way.”

_You must be really tired, Mizuiro._

“You _followed_ her here?” I don’t even bother to cover up my mistake. Our professor walks through the door and up to the podium. Nakamura snickers and faces the front of the room. “Well, I can’t say anything about Mizushima, but you’re super into her, no doubt.”

As if he needed to tell me that.

* * *

There were millions of scenarios I considered from the moment I found out that Tomomi attended Nakagawa University. That I’d play the suave one and sweep her off her feet. That she’d be overjoyed to see me. That the moment she recognized I was there, she’d drag me up to her room and we’d pick up where we left off last summer. That maybe one day she’d miss me, call me thinking I was back in Karakura, and I could surprise her by letting her know I was two dormitory halls away.

None of those senseless fantasies accounted for her sheer eccentricity.

When she recognizes that I’ve come to the coffee house, too, she ditches the friend she came with and plops herself in the booth right next to me, her large bun bouncing with the force of her descent. I have to shuffle aside to make room, squishing Tsukuda into the wall. Nakamura takes one look at the way mine and Tomomi’s arms press against each other, coughs, then runs off with the excuse of refilling his mug. With the student orchestra hosting this week, soft, instrumental music heralds his departure.

“What a prick,” Tsukuda mutters under his breath, then crawls under the table to the other side of the booth.

“Oh, so you all go to classes together,” Tomomi says after Nakamura returns and introductions are passed around. “Who would’ve thought? Funny how things work out like that sometimes.” She picks up a napkin, smooths out the surface, and starts folding it into squares, her eyes hopping between my two friends.

Nakamura has calmed down enough to put on a smug smile between drinks of his coffee. “I dunno how much of its coincidence,” he says. I try to kick at his leg underneath the table, but just end up stubbing my toe on the center table leg instead. “How did you guys meet, anyway? Kojima didn’t mention anything like that.”

With good reason. I’ve gotten too used to conversations like these to get embarrassed over them, and flash my most pleasant smile. Tomomi unfurls her napkin, using the creases she’s made to fold it into a more compact square, humming a bit. “We met over coffee,” she says, and I’m stuck holding my breath to see how much she tells them. “We ended up getting along really well, so we ended up hanging out a lot over the summer. Didn’t expect to see Mizuiro all the way up here, there.” All the while, she’s adding more folds to the napkin, until she’s made a thin diamond shape.

Tsukuda nods, watching her fingers more than her face. I can’t pick which one to watch. “You’re pretty good at origami, Mizushima-san,” Tsukuda says, and Nakamura rolls his eyes. I promise to help him out with preparing for our next history exam. Tomomi’s made the bottom end of the diamond even thinner, and I recognize the shape of a crane almost complete in her fingers. “Isn’t it hard to keep the napkin from tearing up?”

“Yeah, I prefer to use proper paper, but stuff like this is a fun challenge.” Tomomi folds up the thin ends of her diamond, forming the crane’s neck and tail. She starts to make creases for the head. “Besides, I’ve kind of lost count, but if I keep making them, I’ll get a wish at some point.” With gentle tugs on the wings, the crane’s wings unfurl, and Tomomi places him dead center in the table. “Oh, but Nakamura-kun, did I help you out with those worksheets? A lot of math is self-practice, but don’t hesitate to stop by again if you don’t understand it.”

“Huh? Yeah,” Nakamura says, as if he’s already forgotten he went to tutoring in the first place. I’m too busy being relieved that she called him by his family name. What in the world am I so jumpy over? “I think I’m getting stuff sorted out… You still doing okay in your math, Kojima?” He flicks his eyes to me, testing my reaction.

“I’m doing just fine.” I have to stop myself short of the lie. Not just because it’s instinct, but because Tomomi’s watching from the corner of her eye, outside the aid of her glasses. I give her smile, even though she’ll know it’s fake. “It’s been a bit difficult adjusting to the different pace of things here, but I didn’t overload myself, so classes are going fine.”

Even if my education is just an excuse to see her.

Even if I have no idea where I’m going.

Tomomi nods, her finger pushing the crane’s nose back and forth. “Well, no matter what sort of classes you guys are taking, don’t be afraid to come to the success center. No one’s gonna judge you, and it’s part of your tuition after all.” She finishes her cup of coffee and stands to leave. “Don’t waste the resources you have, alright?”

* * *

I try my best not to go that direction—I really do. Keigo, Kurosaki, and even Chad were always smarter than me, but I could do enough to hold my own in classes. But as the midpoint of the semester passes, every professor starts to crank up their classwork. I spend a few nights staying up late too complete my assignments, wake up drowsy, and next thing I know I’ve fallen asleep in my geometry class and I have no idea how to decipher the textbook that afternoon.

The weather’s hit it warm enough that going for a walk back down to campus feels pleasant instead of windy cold, and I tromp down the hill and back up the other end. The hall that holds the student success center is the one on the north most side, and I take the stairs up a level to get there.

Taking up the western half of the second floor is a spread of personal work rooms, a computer lab, and reception desk to help schedule appointments and tutors. I stare straight forward, not wanting to check if Tomomi’s here or not. Final period is still going on, so there’s a chance she might be in class, or even doing anything else instead of her part-time volunteer work.

And sure enough, I get an upperclassman in his final year of studies as my tutor. We pick out an empty room, fitted with a table, semi-comfortable chairs, and an almost soundproofed silence from the outside. He shows me example problems, compares them to my homework, and spends an hour on guiding me through problems and diagrams of circles.

By the time we get to the end, I halfway understand what’s going on, my homework is finished, and I can’t stop thinking about what it would be like if I _did_ have Tomomi to help me out today instead of this senpai. Nakamura said she talked a lot, and I have a hard time bringing together her whimsical conversations with any sort of effective instruction.

Or maybe that last part is because I’d be too distracted by her presence to get anything done.

“Thanks for the instruction,” I say with a small bow when we finish tidying up. “It must be hard taking care of dunces like me all the time.”

The senpai shakes his head and hefts his messenger bag over his shoulder. The stitches around the seams strain from the weight of his workload. “Nothing like that,” he assures, opening the door for me. “Everyone has their own strengths and weaknesses. It doesn’t hurt to help each other out. Not that I’m the best teacher here.” I raise an eyebrow as I pass into the hallway. “Some of the assistants here are education students. Oh, like Tomomi-chan.”

I almost drop my backpack as I spin around in the direction of my tutor’s wave. Tomomi is poking her heard out of a door, exchanging farewells with a girl I recognize from my English class. Noticing us down the hall, Tomomi bounces into an extravagant wave. The braid hanging from her head flies into the air, mismatched streaks of dark brown and neon green interweaving until they blend into an in-between color I didn’t know existed. With the warmer weather, her skirt falls to her knees and a close fitting blouse shows off the thin shapes of her arms.

“Mizuiro,” she chirps, swinging her purse over her shoulder and meeting us halfway. “And Yugo-chan, too.” She pokes at my tutor’s shoulder. “Did you teach Mizuiro right? I won’t forgive you if he comes back with failing grades.” I can’t decide whether to feel giddy for the concern or suspicious of the familiar honorific.

Yugo-senpai sighs and holds onto the back of his neck. “I’d like to think I’ve learned enough by now that I can help first years out with their assignments.” He smiles a bit, though. “Not that I can do it as effectively as you can, Tomomi-chan.”

“Aha, I knew you were talking senseless flattery again.” Tomomi flips her wrist to check the time. “Ah, sorry, I have a scheduling session for summer school classes. I’d love to stay and chat, but I gotta run!” She salutes to us both and darts down the hallway.

“And I have to meet up with a group for class project,” Yugo-senpai says, checking the buckles on his bag a second time. He nods to me. “Stop by again if you don’t get the lessons. We’ll be glad to help out.”

With that, I’m left staring in their wake. I didn’t even get in a word edgewise.

* * *

“Summer vacation is on the horizon.”

“Keigo, summer is still a month away,” I say into the phone, sitting in my dorm. We may have changed, but his absolute seriousness for a break will never fade. It makes me worry for when he gets into the workforce. Katou’s hunched over his computer again, the sounds of a retro space game _pew-pew_ -ing from the speakers.

Keigo scoffs; I know him so well I can see the roll of his eyes even though we’re half a country apart. “That’s why it’s best to get our plans taken care of now. I’m trying to figure out who all’s coming home so I can pull something together.” Out of all of us, Keigo and Chad stayed in Karakura—Keigo to the nearby university, and Chad heading into the workforce. “You haven’t said anything about getting a girlfriend up there yet. Is your schedule free?”

I sink deeper into the beanbag and stare at the ceiling. It’s white and perfect for reflecting sunlight across the room, if not for our erstwhile drawn curtains and the hulking mass of Katou’s barrier/shelf cutting off the view.

And Keigo’s right; even though it’s what I came here for, I don’t have a girlfriend. I had thought Tomomi might go stay with her dad in Karakura again like she did last summer, but she mentioned summer school classes. Yugo-senpai implied she was an education major, so I can imagine she needs to start putting in experience before she graduates, even if I can’t imagine her standing at the front of a classroom—least of all because of that wild coloring she dyed her hair to.

“I don’t have any plans yet,” I say, because I’d feel bad lying to Keigo. He’s dealt with me enough over the years. “But I don’t wanna impose on you and your parents again. Won’t your sister be home, too? It’ll be more crowded than last time.”

“It’s not like we weren’t sharing my room anyways.” If I had wanted to share anyone’s room this summer, Keigo’s isn’t at the top of the list. He sighs, a bag of chips crinkling as he opens it. “Hey, at the very least if you do go off with some girl, invite me, will ya? You always get good trips.”

Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “I’m sure your parents will be thrilled to know all you’re thinking about in university is girls,” I deadpan. “Can’t you pick up someone without me being your wingman anymore…Asano-san?”

“Come on, not that crap again.” Keigo laughs despite himself. “You’re doing just as bad without me, huh? Wait, does that mean you got all the girls because I seem so cruddy in comparison?”

“Whoa, you’re just figuring that out?”

“Give me a break! Oh.” Keigo leans away from the phone, his voice muffled. “Sorry, Mom needs me to help her out with something, so I gotta talk to you later. Let me know if you’re coming home for the holidays or not, okay?” I get distracted thinking about what it must be like to help your mom out with something. I wonder if Tomomi gets distracted by the same thing, too. “Mizuiro?”

I shake my head. “Sorry, just a bit tired.” This time, it’s a lie. “I’ll let you know. Make sure to get some studying in between your vacation plans, alright?” With a few short farewells, we hang up the phone.

Katou leans back in his chair with a squeak and peers at me. “Thinking about going home for the summer?” he asks.

I shrug. “Maybe. You?”

He shrugs. “My folks are just thirty minutes away. Plus it’s a pain to move all my games back for just a month.” I eye his veritable trove of electronics stashed under his bed, from a television to several retro gaming consoles that look older than Katou does. He sits back up and taps at his computer, ready to start the next round of his game. “Then again, you live a lot farther away than me. Can’t hurt you to go back home while you can, can it?”

Just what am I supposed to consider home now? Kojima Nanako’s house, with the room I abandoned? Keigo’s place, where I staked out until I came here?

When I close my eyes, I just end up picturing the room that Tomomi borrowed from her brother, where I would sneak in through the window and we would lie together.

* * *

Not even a week passes and I’m at the student success registration desk again, waiting for an open tutor. Several students are taking advantage of the computers and relative silence, tapping at upcoming essays and research papers. Waiting in one of the armchairs, I try with no success to make sense of the latest slew of geometry homework thrown my way.

_Who decided we needed to know how to calculate so many things about shapes anyway?_

“Lucky you.” Tomomi pokes at my forehead. Her hair’s all tied back today, not even a stray lock able to fall into my vision. She hasn’t yet swapped into her summer wardrobe, and I can’t help but thinking it’s silly to try to look so professional with her hair dyed like that. Tomomi’s finger taps down on my math problems. “Oh, tricky stuff today. Let’s get started, kay, Mizuiro?”

“R-right,” I say, but Tomomi’s already turned and started skipping to an open room. I stuff all my materials back into my backpack and chase after her. Within moments we’re seated in a different room than my last session with Yugo-senpai, though you wouldn’t be able to tell from the identical décor.

It’s Tomomi’s presence that changes the entire atmosphere, just like always. Nakamura wasn’t joking when he said she was chatty. She talks me the entire way through the problems, makes sure I’m talking as I go, too. Regardless of whether I’m right or wrong, she asks my reasoning in my steps. Soon enough, I can see the reasonings behind the formulas, and, while they’re still tricky, they somewhat make sense.

“You’re sure studying hard, though,” Tomomi says once we’ve reached the halfway point of my assignment. She stands to walk a quick circle around the room, stretching her arms up to the ceiling. “I know it’s expensive coming here. I don’t think I ever saw you do your summer homework.”

She laughs, and I tug at the collar of my t-shirt as my neck flashes up in heat. Is it just because she’s teasing me, or because now that I’m not anxious over my homework I can appreciate this is our first time in closed quarters together in almost a year. The door’s window shows a square of the hallway outside, but that can be blocked off with the blinds. There’s even a lock on the door.

_This is why I didn’t want to come here._

I suck in a deep breath and retort, “I don’t think I ever saw you as being a teacher.” Having paced back around to the opposite side of the table, Tomomi stops and pouts at me. Good. I need the space between us. “You’re an education major, right? I kinda had my doubts, but you’re pretty good at it.”

“Yugo-chan?” she asks. I nod to stop myself from prying about their relationship. Tomomi shrugs. Shoulda figured. Well, I never saw myself teaching, either, but my mom shipped me off her and I had to pick something.” All I know about her mother is that they don’t get along, even if Tomomi claims it could be solved by just talking it out. I know not to pry about that relationship, either, just like she doesn’t pry into mine. “I just had a few good teachers at the right time and ended up thinking it wouldn’t be so bad if I could help people out like that, too.” She pauses and smiles at me. “You’re undecided, aren’t you?”

I didn’t realize I haven’t seen that smile in a while until it crosses her face again. Tomomi is always chipper, but it switches between distinct modes. There’s her basic setting that confuses everyone in passing. Then there’s her mischievous setting that I have no idea what sort of effect it has on other people because I’ve only ever seen it in absolute private.

I feel like my homework isn’t going to get done any time soon.

“Yeah, I don’t know what I want to do yet,” I manage, and Tomomi slips around the edge of the table.

“Pretty expensive school to pick out for not knowing what kind of course you want to take.” She’s right, of course. She right and there’s every chance she knows what I came here for, that education was just secondary to it all. “Mizuiro—”

My ringtone erupts from my pocket, loud enough that almost fall out of my chair at the sound. Tomomi mutters something about “should turn it off during a lesson” as I pull the damn thing out to silence it. My homework and everything else can go to hell, this is my chance to do this for real, and no one can stop it, not even—

_Kurosaki?_

“Sorry,” I mutter, standing up and tucking myself into the corner of the room. Kurosaki never calls in the afternoon like this, he always waits ‘til later so he doesn’t interrupt anyone. “I should take this. Mizuiro speaking.”

“Good, I got you,” Kurosaki answers, his rough voice sounding like he’s almost out of breath. “Sorry, but Dad called me first because he doesn’t have your number but I need to tell you what’s going on.”

“O…kay?” What does Kurosaki’s Dad have to do with anything? I can’t put it together.

“There was a big accident downtown today and he helped out with some patients. Your mom’s in the hospital.”

I listen as Kurosaki explains the details and a numbness creeps through my veins. Tomomi watches, her smile making way for concern. She steps close, but stops short of reaching out for my arm. I find myself on a frantic search to see connections are left in the cables around me until Kurosaki brings an awkward close to our phone call.

“Mizuiro?”

I find my mother’s cable buried so far underneath all the others I didn’t even notice the line between us was still active.

“I have a mom,” I blurt out. I’ve never had to say the truth before; I didn’t let myself say it. Tomomi’s brow furrows in confusion. Of course, it’s been almost a year since she heard me tell that lie, the one that was so engraved in my soul I convinced myself it was truth. “Before, when I said I didn’t have a mom, I was lying. But I have a mom, and she’s in the hospital and I—I—” I can’t even comprehend what comes after that. I what? Does it matter when I can’t even tell what these feels are inside me? Tomomi closes her eyes, thinks for a moment, and takes a measured breath.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, and advances to the door.

The numbness stretching to every nerve ending paralyses me for a moment, then I stumble after her. _Don’t leave me alone, don’t, I can’t—_ Tomomi’s skirt flits around the edge of a doorway two rooms down the hallway. I cling to the image, not having anything else to move forward for the sake of. I peer around the doorway to see Tomomi advancing on Yugo-senpai, his bewildered tutee unsure of how to handle the learning assistant that just interrupted their session.

“Lemme borrow the keys,” Tomomi’s saying.

Yugo-senpai sighs, leaning down for his bag. “Sheesh, Tomomi-chan, would it kill you to remember your own storage keys for once?”

Tomomi swipes Yugo-senpai’s entire key ring, stepping backwards as she fumbles through several capsule keychains to pull a key off that looks very much like it wouldn’t fit in any storage cabinet. She launches the remainder back. Yugo-senpai catches it and sorts through them, his face twisting. “Thanks a bunch,” Tomomi says and whirls around to make her escape.

Her eyes widen a bit at the sight of me, but she doesn’t break stride, snatching my hand on the way past. She drags me along and back to our study room. “Don’t wanna leave our bags for the others to clean up.” I can’t even begin to process what’s going on. “Mizuiro,” Tomomi says, with gentle articulation, “Yugo-chan’s car is parked up by the dorms. Can you walk that far?”

I nod. Of course I can walk that far. I’ve been trekking my way around campus for four months straight, and before that, when I didn’t have a convenient ride about, I walked my way around Karakura down.

“Okay, good.” Tomomi sighs, ducking into our study room. She doesn’t let go of my hand as she snags up her bag over her shoulder and starts to sweep my homework into mine. Not wanting to be dead weight, no matter how much I feel like it, I help and my bag is crammed together in less than a minute. Tomomi tugs me back to the door, glancing around once before embarking once more. “We’ll have to be fast before Yugo-chan realizes I didn’t leave yet. I don’t wanna waste too much time, but we should at least grab our phone chargers so they don’t die on the way.”

My mouth catches up with the rest of my train of thought enough to spill words from my mouth as we trundle down the stairs to the ground floor. “Um, waste time for what?”

Tomomi almost kicks open the door and we burst out into sunlight. The blinding view numbs my eyes to match the rest of my body. “It’s a long drive to Karakura,” she says, flashing open her palm to show off the key she stole from Yugo-senpai: a car key. My mouth falls open, only able to suck in the pre-summer wind that washes over us. “I don’t mind sharing the ride with you, but you should keep your phone on in case the situation changes.”

“What? Drive? Tomomi—” I say, even though I don’t know what I’m protesting for. Driving will be better than crowding myself into a train with strangers. I don’t have a license, but I trust Tomomi does.

And above all else, she wants to be the one to take me.

“Thank you,” I say, and set my eyes ahead on the hill before us. The faintest trace of Tomomi’s smile flickers in my peripheral.

“Any time.”

Her hand tightens on mine, and I appreciate the feeling of her hand, not just clasped around my wrist, but her fingers intertwining with mine.

* * *

My relationship with my Kojima Nanako grew distant near the beginning of middle school. I’ve tried so hard to forget it that I don’t remember the specifics. Did she decide I was old enough to take care of myself that she stopped bothering? Did she get so caught up in her “work” that I became much more of a burden to pay attention to? It was no coincidence that when I ran away from home I started sleeping around.

I got the idea from her, after all.

Nanako took the first step in unplugging the cable that connected us. I refused to comply and opened communication again and again, calling her on a daily basis, no matter how her small conversations changed to distracted check ins to pure scolding that I wouldn’t stop calling and wasn’t considering her feelings.

Then I entered high school, made new friends, and I stopped. I didn’t hear from her again until she sent me money that the father I’d never met had set aside for me to start applying for schools. The last time we talked was when she congratulated me on my acceptance to Nakagawa University five months ago. She didn’t try to reconcile. Our relationship was far too broken for that. Along with all the others, I severed the cable between us once and for all.

And yet—

* * *

I’ve always thought of people as being connected like wires in an ICU. Now that I’m seeing all those wires in person, I’m all the more aware of how fragile those connections are.

At this point, just family is allowed into the room with her. That means just me, though Tomomi is right in the hallway. She had planned this whole lie about being a distant relative, but I didn’t let her go through with it. I, who have no right to stop others from lying after all that I’ve done myself, stopped her.

Because I both wanted and didn’t want her to see me so vulnerable.

The room is so cold I wish I’d grabbed a jacket along with my phone charger back in the dorms. There aren’t any windows, just artificial light blanketing the scene in bleached out fluorescence. Nanako is hooked up to so many monitors that I can’t bring myself to look at for fear of discovering something unfixable. A breathing mask is strapped over her face, tubes and wires prodding her skin, connecting screens, clinging to power outlets to keep running. Underneath the blankets and her hospital gown are surgery stitches from the gash in her stomach the doctors had to sew up.

A three-way car pileup. Nanako was in the passenger’s seat, took the collision point blank. Ripped open her stomach and knocked her head hard enough that she went under. The doctors assured me that scans show no sign of brain damage, and she’ll wake up once her body heals a bit more and they need less anesthesia to keep her stable. The ICU room is just to give her extra assurance in case things do go south.

A tight nausea clenches in my stomach and scalds my throat. I haven’t been able to move from the place I was standing when the doctor explained everything to me twenty minutes ago. Kojima Nanako—my _mother_ is less than a meter away from me, but I can’t step forward, can’t say anything so she knows I’m there, can’t reach out to touch her for fear of finding her skin scold. My legs have lost feeling from standing stock still for so long, but at this point I think letting myself sit down will feel more wrong than anything else.

Time trickles away until a nurse steps in to change out Mother’s IV bags. “Mizushima-san is still waiting in the hallway for you,” he says. “She wants you to know it’s time for dinner.”

I don’t think I can eat, but I know Tomomi won’t accept that no matter how distraught I am. I glance over Nanako’s sleeping yet still tired looking face one more time before I exit.

* * *

A day passes until they determine Mother’s condition well enough to let Tomomi come in, or maybe the hospital staff’s realized that we’re both going to spend all our time here anyway, so they might as well let us do it together. Tomomi makes sure I take a seat while I wait, drags us both down to the hospital cafeteria for meals, and chatters through the long hours at both me and my mother, talking about everything from the best pedagogical approaches to different learning types to different hair styles. One afternoon she goes out to the bathroom, takes an hour, and instead comes back with a bag stuffed full of origami paper.

“Like I said,” Tomomi muses, using Mother’s untouched patient table to start folding the base of a crane, “I’ve folded so many of these that one of them might be the lucky one to get a wish. So might as well use it when it counts.” Her thumbnail runs across her fold, leaving a sharp crease in the paper, and she moves onto the next step. I take a shuddering breath and scoot my chair over to sit next to her.

“It’s…been a long time since I’ve folded a crane.” What, elementary school? Speaking the truth has never felt hollower as it puffs into the sterile ICU air. I pluck a sheet of paper off the stack and flip it over, observing the different patterns. The smooth surface and glossy color proves the high quality. “Would you mind if I piggybacked off your number and added mine to it?”

Tomomi tucks in the edges of her bird base and sets it aside, grabbing a new sheet with a thin smile. “Well, unlike other patterns, cranes just show one side of the paper, so figure out which pattern you wanna show off before you start making your base folds…”

* * *

We get so caught up in folding cranes—Tomomi’s pristine and sharp, mine wobbly and sometimes crumbled from lack of practice, but improving—that we don’t realize it’s past noon until the day’s nursing attendant steps in and apologizes for being later than usual. Mother’s heart monitor and weak breathing are stable, so she’s not in danger. Tomomi takes the lead and gives a “no worries” response with the sort of polite smile I can’t muster right now.

“Lunchtime, though,” she says, pulling apart her newest crane’s wing’s to pop open its back. Tomomi adds it to the small hill of them we have forming at Mother’s bedside. I give up on making construction folds to line up my own crane’s beak for the time being and put it aside. “We’ve been eating hospital food for two straight days. Let’s go stretch our legs and get something better. Fast food or something.”

I glance over at Mother, who hasn’t changed in the slightest. Sometimes I look and I think she’s getting paler, but Tomomi assures me it’s just my imagination. “We do have your number on file, Kojima-kun,” the nurse adds, sidestepping the crane pile to trade out an IV bag. “These are lovely, by the way. Maybe you should get some string and hang them up.”

“Great idea,” Tomomi says through a stretch. She sighs and drops her arms down, one hand reaching for mine. “Come on, Mizuiro. There’s a lot of stuff not even a few blocks from here. We’ll be gone an hour at most.”

With reluctance, I agree and follow Tomomi down the stairs and to the entrance. Inside the ICU room, everything’s been so isolated, with the occasional doctor and nurse administering care and checkups. Outside is a bustle of medical practitioners and guests, more so the farther away from the ICU we go. It’s such a stark change from the silence of Mother’s room that I almost forgot what reality sounded like.

“Whoa, Aneki, that you?” Tomomi stops at the voice, and I almost bump into her. Mo-kun, Tomomi’s younger brother, weaves around a couple of nurses and halts in front of us. Aside from the glasses and short cropped hair, Mo-kun looks every bit like Tomomi, even though they’re just half-siblings. He’s grown in the past year, his height overtaking me (not a difficulty) and his sister (a bit trickier). “You didn’t say if you were coming back or not…wait, you’re not ditching finals, are you?”

Tomomi laughs, the sound blowing through me like a spring breeze. “Well, I am ditching class, but it’s for a good cause.” She lets go of my hand and nudges my shoulder, though the light tone of her voice drops. “His mom got in an accident, so I borrowed Yugo-chan’s car and brought him down.”

“You _stole_ Yugo-chan’s car,” Mo-kun says, his lips curling into the same mischievous smile Tomomi has. “He’s been freaking out online, trying to see if anyone knows where the hell you went.” Tomomi shrugs. Mo-kun turns to me. “How’s your mom, though? Is she doing okay? How about you?”

The questions feel like they do and don’t have concrete answers all at once. “Things will be alright once everything calms down,” I say, skirting the familiar dance of a half lie. Tomomi and Mo-kun share a glance, but neither of them calls me out on it. “What about you, though? Why are you at the hospital?” I think of his other half-sister, Tomomi’s step-sister, how she almost hurt them both not even a year ago. With Mother’s accident in mind, I can’t help but think of worst case scenarios.

Mo-kun flails his left arm at me. “Getting this thing checked up on.” He spins his arm to show off a scar at the elbow. “Busted it up during practice. My cast’s been off for a week, so they were just making sure it’s recovered.”

Tomomi goes to poke at the scar tissue, but Mo-kun waves her off. “He’s in the American Football Club,” she adds. A dangerous hobby, there. Tomomi claps her hands together. “Sorry I couldn’t make it down to the hospital when you were admitted, Mo-kun. Forgive me?”

He rolls his eyes in mock hurt, but I can see the hint of a smile. Or, rather, it’s a smirk as he looks us over. “So you went ahead and found her, huh?” he asks me. Though the sensation is dulled in comparison to before, I remember that Tomomi was about to confront me on that very topic. Mo-kun rakes his gaze over us again. “Come on, Aneki. He did all that and you’re still not together?”

This time, it’s Tomomi’s turn to whack at her sibling. “Hush, you. Don’t go talking about things you don’t know about.”

“Oh, I know _all_ about what you two did in my room over the summer. You’re not exactly quiet, Aneki.” My face flares red while Tomomi attempts to wrestle her brother into a headlock. His lithe muscles go to work at the sibling skirmish. Passing hospital visitors avoid our group with discontent stares. Neither Mizushima is fazed. “Just date him already. You’ve never kept a guy around this long.”

“Hmmmm? Does that mean you should be dating Mimi-chan by now, huh?”

“Hey! This isn’t about me, it’s about you.”

“Don’t be rude, a relationship, hypothetical or no, involves two people. You should take Mizuiro’s opinion into consideration.”

“I took all I needed to know into consideration when I told him where you went to school.”

“So it was you! Mo-chan, you little _sneak_.”

“I learned from you, sister dearest.”

I don’t catch the chuckle as it bubbles up my throat—and soon I double over as laughter shakes my shoulders. Tears, not sad ones, form in my eyes. I wonder if this is how Tomomi felt when she laughed over being threatened, her voice so distant but right in my ear while I lounged on some beach down south, too far away to help. Did she laugh because if she didn’t, she’d fall apart?

_I doubt she’d ever do something as worthless as that._

Tomomi and Mo-kun stop, my outburst somehow doing what societal disapproval could not accomplish. They exchange glances as I straighten up. “You alright, Mizuiro?”

“I’m okay,” I say, allowing myself a sigh of relief. “I just had some things built up. Don’t worry about it.” I smooth out my shirt, as if it’ll do any good against the two-day-wrinkles. “But, Mo-kun, your sister. Not Tomomi. How is she?”

Tomomi defaults to her brother, the answer not available to her otherwise. Mo-kun tilts his head and consults the ceiling. “Well, she moved out. I hear she’s doing therapy on and off, but who knows how well that’s going.” He shrugs. “Nothing cataclysmic has happened yet, so all we can do is hope for the best,” he says, his voice betraying very much that he’s not willing to waste the energy on that. Mo-kun hugs Tomomi’s arm; she jumps, but ruffles his hair anyway. “You should focus your attention on the sister in front of you, alright?”

“I’ll say it again, Mo-kun: you little _sneak._ ”

“Love you, too, Aneki.”

* * *

Tomomi has taken a break from her own folding to start stringing the rest of the cranes together. I manage to slice my finger open while folding my latest addition to the pile and mess with my phone while I wait for the bleeding to stop. Sure enough, there’s a boatload of notifications as I’ve been ignoring the thing since we got to the hospital. Most of them are from Keigo.

Just as I’m debating whether or not to call him back or just send a text, the screen lights up in his name.

_Well, that settles that._

I retreat to the corner of the room farthest from my mother and give Tomomi a reassuring smile.

“Kojima—”

“Don’t give me that crap right now, Mizuiro,” Keigo says, worry staining his voice. I prop myself against the wall and settle in for the long haul. “You don’t have to pretend you’re okay with me, alright, man? I heard about your mom. Are you going to come and visit? I could pick you up from the train station.”

I watch my mother’s chest rise and fall beneath the blanket, a subtle shift that reminds me things are alright for the time being. “I’m actually already here,” I say, and Keigo starts squawking. “I’m with her at the hospital. She’s stable, but not much else has change—”

“You’ve been at the hospital a couple of _days_?” Of course Keigo would have a meltdown if I didn’t contact him; why didn’t I think this far ahead? _Right, pressing paranoia._ “Dude, if she’s stable, at least come stay at my place. You need a real bed.”

“Keigo, I’m fine.”

“You always say that when you’re not. I’m coming to pick you up anyways.”

Keigo hangs up, and sure enough within twenty minutes he’s getting escorted into the room by a nurse. Keigo huffs, glares at me, and pulls me into a hug. “I’m sorry, Mizuiro.” I stiffen at the contact, but the tension drains away in a matter of moments. Tomomi pops up from her seat and watches with a slight smile, crane garland dangling behind her. I avoid her gaze just as Keigo pulls back. “Man, just like I thought—you stink. You’re coming home and taking a bath and getting some real food.” Keigo notices Tomomi without flinching. “I’m Asano Keigo. Did you bring Mizuiro down? You’re welcome to come, too.”

“Mizushima Tomomi.” Amongst every other feeling swirling in me, I’m glad I never mentioned her name to Keigo. “I appreciate the offer.” Tomomi ties a loose knot at the end of the crane garland and manages to catch my eyes with hers. “You heard him, Mizuiro. You’re not gonna sleep in a hospital chair tonight.” She retrieves our bags from the corner of the room and starts to badger me to the door. “I’ll drive if you give me instructions.”

Keigo’s grin flashes as I take one last look at my mother. “Roger that.”

* * *

Keigo’s room is as haphazard as ever. I sit at his desk, somewhat organized with his college materials, while he tosses his dirty clothes and empty soda bottles aside to make room for the futon he had been jabbering about for the summer. Sun shines in through the windows, highlighting every stray piece of trash. Tomomi’s been given reign of the bath first, and Keigo’s parents have started cooking dinner with their newfound guests in mind.

They didn’t complain about me taking up space in their home again, though I wish I could give them some money like I did through the end of high school. At the moment, the savings my father left for me are taking care of my Nakagawa tuition. I wonder if any of that money could help Mother if I put it into medical treatments.

Keigo beans me in the head with an empty soda bottle. It clatters to a rest on his desk. “Nanako’s gonna be fine,” he says, with the same baseless confidence he approaches everything with. Though some may consider it a fault, that baseless confidence is one of the things I admire about him. “I chatted with the nurses a bit on my way up. They say her vitals have been improving at a steady rate. She should wake up in a few days.”

“I know.” They wasted no time telling me the good news, and Tomomi reminded me every five cranes or so, trying to get me to smile. I fiddle with a pencil from Keigo’s desk as he kicks some unused notebooks under his dresser. “Realistically, I know things are going to be okay. And before, when people would panic over stuff like this, I didn’t get it. But it’s totally different when it happens to you, huh?”

“That’s normal,” Keigo says, settling for looking semi-clean and leaning against the wall beneath some idol poster I don’t recognize. He rests an arm on his knee, keeping eye contact. “I know it’s scary. But when things are scary, that’s when you gotta have friends to help you keep your cool.”

I nod. Our relationship tends to go the other way around. “Thanks, Keigo.”

Keigo chuckles. “Don’t, man, you’re gonna freak me out.” While I can’t break into laughter like I did at the Mizushima siblings’ antics, a smile eases onto my lips. “I know, we’ll talk like normal. That’ll get you to relax.” Keigo glances to the wall—in the direction of the bathroom. “Since you didn’t mention her, I’m guessing she’s not your girlfriend? Well, she is a bit younger than what you tend to go for.”

“You think if I am this pencil right I can throw it right into your eye?” I raise the pencil like a dart. Keigo snatches up a stray ball of paper and readies his own ammunition. We stare down each other for a moment before dropping our arms in unison. “Tomomi’s not my girlfriend. But I’d like her to me.”

Keigo blinks—not once, but twice. “For real?” I nod. “You’re serious?” I nod again. Keigo runs his hand down his face. “You know, Mizuiro, I’m happy for you, but at the same time…” He locks me with a serious expression, though I can see his lips twitch as he tries to keep a straight face. “Would it kill you to set me up for once?”

I slip off the chair and flop down onto the floor across from him. “You wouldn’t be jealous if you knew how difficult it is to get her to see things my way.” The echo of her words still stings. But I like to think—since we’ve known each other longer now— I glance in the direction Tomomi should be, too, even though all I _can_ see is Mizuiro’s closet door. “But I think we might be getting there. I just need to make sure it’s not pity first.”

There’s a light knock on the door. “Mizuiro, I’m gonna help Asano-san with dinner,” Tomomi says from the other side. “Bath’s all yours. Try not to fall asleep in it.” Her footsteps shuffle away as Keigo smirks at me.

 _“_ What?”

“Nothing,” he says before I even finish asking.

“Don’t you dare go bugging her for details.” I haul myself to my feet. Keigo puts on a far too innocent expression. “Tomomi’s off limits, Keigo; I’m serious.”

I can still hear his laughter when I close the bathroom door behind me.

* * *

Two days later, in the chill of my mother’s hospital room as Tomomi and I continue to fold cranes, Kojima Nanako wakes up in the afternoon and scolds me for not being at school. The nurses and doctors bustle around in their checkups, clear her to be moved into a standard room, and get to work. Tomomi and I make sure she gets transferred over with no problems and hang the crane garland over the window as summer sunshine fights with the hospital’s air conditioner.

“I’m glad you stopped by, really,” Mother says, sounding more genuine than I can ever remember her, “but I don’t want you to miss out on your education over me. The worst of it’s passed, so get back to Nakagawa, okay? I’ll call you when I’m discharged.”

“Okay,” I say, checking over and over that the cable between us won’t get severed this time, hoping that some sort of signal will be sent along its wires this time. “Okay,” I say again, unable to let any of the other words I haven’t spoken in years to come from my mouth. Maybe someday soon, but not today. “I’ll hear from you soon, then.”

Tomomi and I take the long drive back up to Aomori with the windows down. The rushing wind hurls Tomomi’s long hair in every direction. When one radio station turns to static, she switches it to another. I play with my phone, returning all the missed messages I left unattended during hospital vigil. Once the date registers with me, I grimace.

“Exams start on Monday.”

Tomomi nods and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. It just flies right back out of place again. “Yep. Well, you had a family emergency, and I think I can get away with it ‘cause I helped you, so we should be able to get an extension on our coursework. We’re gonna be stuck on campus for the beginning of summer, though.”

Well, at least it’s not an automatic failure. That’d be a great start to my college career. “Do a lot of people stay on campus during summer?” I ask.

“Eh, it varies. I snagged a room to myself this year, so it’s not as big of a deal to me as it is to others.” On the horizon out my window, I can see a town I don’t know the name to, almost obscured by the sheer amount of sky between us. Tomomi props her elbow on the armrest, manning Yugo-senpai’s steering wheel one-handed. “I was trying to teach classes near campus, so I was planning on staying anyway.” She casts me a short glance I just manage to catch. “Were you gonna go back to Karakura?”

I pass my phone between my hands. “Maybe. Hadn’t decided.” Tomomi hums out of tune with the radio. “Well, Keigo got my company already, so I’ll just stay in the dorms. I think I’ve had enough exhaustion for one month.” Katou better not be too disappointed if he ends up staying, too. Not that there’s much difference between just one of us staying in that room with how attached to his computer he is.

“Ha, summer school buddies.” Tomomi offers me a fist to bump. I press our knuckles together, then, after months of waffling over it, clasp my hand around hers. Tomomi lets our hands fall to the console between us, still connected. She glances at her phone displaying the GPS. “It looks like it’s gonna be late when we get back to the dorms. Wanna sleep over at my place?”

* * *

Tomomi’s room is dim with just the light from the dorm hall to illuminate it. She has twice the space Katou and I do, and I can see the shape of the bed sticking out from one wall. Yugo-senpai’s keys clatter as Tomomi tosses them onto one of the dressers. I scramble to shut the door once she starts pulling her shirt up.

This moment doesn’t go the way I imagined it, either, but that’s fine. Even if I didn’t _sleep_ with Tomomi over the summer, she always gave me a spot in the bed. Tomomi lies down in a thin tank top and her underwear, and I’m stuck in the same shirt I’ve been wearing since we left, though Keigo’s mom was nice enough to wash it for me. Tomomi rests her head on my chest, and the weight of her body and silkiness of her skin feel the exact same way I remember.

The rest of the week is a scramble to catch ourselves back up with the rest of Nakagawa. As predicted, we’re both able to receive make up lessons and exams due to the nature of the emergency. Tsukuda and Nakamura react in all the right ways when I give them the news of what happened with my mom, even Yugo-senpai reacts with relief before scolding Tomomi, then they’re off as summer vacation starts for the fortunate. Even Katou gives in and goes home. I’m sure the dorm would feel lonely if I bothered to sleep in it.

Given that Tomomi’s room is on the third floor of her dorm hall, I wouldn’t well be able to sneak in through the window to stay over. But given that there’s no parental supervision, plus most of the dorm is empty anyway, it’s a moot point. We study for our exams together, walk downtown to eat as the campus dining halls are closed, and spend the rest of our time enjoying each other’s company.

And when we do finally let ourselves come together, when Tomomi calls my name the same way she always did, when I let myself call hers, I’m more aware than ever of the wire that connects us and how I never want it to unravel.

“Hey,” Tomomi whispers to me one night with the quiet of empty night air seeping in through the window, her expression obscured in shadow, “I think I like you.”

“You must be really tired, Tomomi,” I say with a fake yawn in my voice, even though I’m wide awake, “Go to sleep…”

Tomomi shoves my shoulder and almost knocks me off the bed. “You’re rude!”

“I’m rude?” I laugh as I set myself upright. Squinting through the dark, I can see Tomomi’s pout. “You’re the one who said it the first time.”

“Yeah, but that was different.” Tomomi sits up, tugging out the ponytails she kept in during our tryst. She snaps the scrunchies around her wrists, the rest of her skin pale against her dark bedsheets. “I didn’t know if I’d be coming back after that summer. You were just a high school kid. I couldn’t do that to you.”

I reach out, brushing my fingers across her cheek. “You did it, all right,” I say, catching a lock of her soft hair. “You did plenty, and I followed you, and now we’re together.” Tomomi scoots closer, trailing tickling kisses against my shoulder. “Summer’s not almost over, but even when it is, we’ll still be in the same place.”

“So?”

“So, I _know_ I like you.” I make sure to look at her, as much eye contact as we can make. “I’ve been thinking…that I want to go into medicine.” Tomomi doesn’t so much as object to the sudden change in topic. “I wanna be able to help people like how they helped Mom, so yeah. And I hear there’s all sorts of calculations for dosages and things like that. I might need a tutor.”

Tomomi giggles and pecks a kiss onto my lips. “If Nakamura asks, you have to tell him we’re dating. Don’t lie about it, Mizuiro.”

I follow her lead as she starts to lie down. “I never intended on lying about it in the first place.”

* * *

And, so, I take stock of my wires, one more time: the ones that connect to my friends in Karakura town; the ones that connect to my new friends here; the reestablished one with my mother; and—

The wire I sent out to Tomomi, intertwined with the wire she sent to me, enforcing the signal between us to a new frequency I hadn’t spoken in before, but am more than ready to learn how to.

* * *

_systems active_

_communication: OPEN_

* * *

_Transmission Entering Standby_


End file.
